Page 55 of Kick

I lurch forward. Prez lets me go and I clamber across the bed and fall down onto the floor. Her eyes are wide open, but she’s not breathing, she’s not gasping for breath or fighting to hold on because there’s a huge hole blown out of the side of her head. Fragments of bone litter the carpet, and her blood and brain tissue paint the ceiling.

My chest squeezes, and a howl rips from my gut as I gather her lifeless body in my arms. I cradle her head in my lap, my fingers slip into the gaping mess of her skull, and a little more bone chips away.

I wanna die. I wanna die more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life. Right now, all I want is to check out, but I know when I move, it’ll end the last time I ever touch her. Tears stream down my cheeks, and cries of anguish rip from my body until I’m choking on the sound of my own heart breaking. I’m sinking in blood and sweat and betrayal, and yet it’s as though I’ve learned how to breathe underwater, because for all the pain I feel, I still haven’t drowned yet.

I don’t know how long I stay like that, cradling her in my arms. But eventually Prez comes over and claps a hand on my back. “It’s for the best, son. Can you imagine the two of you working after all you’ve done to her, after all she’s been through?”

I explode, pushing Lauren from my lap and slamming Prez’s body against the carpet. I wrap my hands around his throat and attempt to choke the life out of him. I’m knocked back with a kick to the side of the head. I don’t even feel it; not really, not the way I felt the bullet that took her life as if it were my own body that’d been hit. Tag lunges and pins me beneath him. I struggle, and then I realise there’s nothing left to fight for.

“Help him up, Tag,” Prez says, rubbing his hands over his throat. “Nice try, but we’re not going to kill you, Daniel. You’re way too valuable. You’re going to lead us to Ethan, because I know you know where he is, and we’re gonna keep Daddy dearest here until you come through.”

“Then you’re gonna be waiting a fuckin’ long time,” I seethe. “Shoot the fucker; shoot me. I don’t give a fuck.”

“I think you will,” Prez says, leaning over and tapping my cheek with the side of his hand. “I can be pretty persuasive. Rue, get Juke out to the van.” Rue nods and starts walking forward.

“Tag, clean up your fuckin’ mess. And bring the body. We’ve got a delivery for Slayer.”

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her!” I bellow, as I climb to my feet and charge Tag, but I’m knocked back down again by another blow to my head, and then the nothingness I’d longed for so badly finally swallows me up.

Islam the door and stalk away from the gym. I only make it to the kitchen before I lose my shit entirely.

“FUCK!” I roar, and swipe the empty pizza boxes off the counter. I’m full to fuckin’ bursting with violence. I need to punch, and hit, and feel bone crunch under my fists. I need to choke the life out of something. I need to fuck, to smash into a woman’s body over and over again. I need …I need her.

I didn’t wanna fuckin’ need her. I don’t wanna need her. I never wanted to feel this shit, this helplessness again. I already gave one bitch the power to break my heart and she tore it all to fuckin’ bits when she died, and now Indie’s in there, trying to tape that shit together, trying to see something more inside me than I deserve. And I can’t fuckin’ do it. I won’t.

I stomp toward the front door and gather up my keys from the bowl in the foyer. I need to get the fuck outta here. I need a real motherfuckin’ drink and I need a bitch that hasn’t been all jacked up by some psychotic priest to ride my cock.

Jesus Christ.I wasn’t fuckin’ lying when I said I was attracted to the fucked-up ones. I’d thought Ivy was bad, but there ain’t no hope for that bitch in the house.

Country’s sitting on the front step when I walk outside, shotgun in his lap and whistling some fuckin’ old-timey tune, no doubt. I ignore him as I walk over to my bike.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” I say, sliding my helmet from the handlebars and putting it on.

“There’s blood on the moon, boy.”

“Gonna be blood fuckin’ everywhere if I don’t get up inside a motherfuckin’ pussy soon.” I shake my head at the fuckin’ crazy old coot and mount my bike, flipping the ignition switch and twisting the throttle until she roars to life. The V-Twin Revolution engine purrs and my balls pull up against my already hard cock. I walk her back a few paces, away from the other bikes, and then I give her some kick and ride off. I can’t open her up the way I want to on the unsealed road, so I head out to the highway and just ride.

After a while I grow tired of thinking, and I head back towards the quiet little town of Leura. I pull up outside the pub and park my baby, stroking her dark orange racing stripes. I miss the ride; lately I’ve been nothin’ but a glorified babysitter. I hang my helmet over the handlebars and walk inside, ignoring the faces who stare me down when I take a seat at the bar and order a JD with no ice. The bartender is a weary lookin’ dude, rail thin, save for the beer gut, with greying hair almost as bushy as his eyebrows. He grunts and takes my money, and then disappears once he’s handed me my drink.

I glance around the bar. There’s a hen’s party at a booth in the corner. The bride-to-be is decked out in a pink feather boa and a crown with pink plastic penises attached to it. They’re all drunk as fuckin’ skunks. Sadly, Princess Penis is the only one hot enough to put a ring on, but then I’m not looking to be tied down. I’m just lookin’ for a quick, hard fuck.

I pick up my drink and sit in the booth in front of them, and then I wait.

It takes about five minutes of girlish squeals and murmuring before a plucky blonde comes and falls into the seat across from me. I’m pretty sure she meant to sit down, but I’m guessing she doesn’t realise how drunk she is.

“You’re hot,” she slurs, with a flirty smile.

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

“You’re drunk.” I smirk, and bringing the glass to my lips I check out her cleavage over the rim. I chuckle when she feigns innocence. We both know why she sat down at my table, and it wasn’t to tell me that she thought I was hot.

I don’t understand regular people. In fact, this bitch is why I hate people that aren’t attached to the life. At the clubhouse, if you want your cock sucked, there are always willing mouths available. There are twenty fuckin’ club whores to the ten of us. There’s no pretention, no lead up, just pure, fuckin’ unadulterated pleasure.

I down the rest of my drink and stand up, offering my hand to the ditzy blonde who I’m hoping has a mouth like a fuckin’ Hoover and a snatch tighter than a vice. “Come on, darlin’.”

“Are we going for a ride?”

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